Born To Die
by mannybothans
Summary: Almost 200 years after Lavinia Fisher was hanged for her crimes, men start going missing near the Ashley River. Dean Winchester reluctantly joins forces with a childhood friend and hunter to solve the mystery. Rated M for language and explicit content. (A/U after season 8. OC - Christa E. DeanxOC, SamxOC. I don't own SPN.)
1. Chapter 1

Location: Charleston, South Carolina

A young man wanders out of the woods where the trees that once grew are dead and skeletal. The ground is giving way to muck and mud and soon the man finds himself in shoulder-deep, brackish water. The man, dazed, suddenly grasps for cattails and lily pads as the water begins to engulf him. His cry is silent as he disappears under the black water.

* * *

Dean walked inside the motel room and shut the door behind him. He immediately walked to the refrigerator and shoved his head into it. Fingers on a laptop behind him stopped moving.

"You're letting all the cold air out," drawled a dry voice.

Dean slowly withdrew his head from the refrigerator and grabbed a beer; he deftly twisted off the top before taking a long swig. His dark t-shirt was damp with sweat, rings of darker cloth circling his armpits and the neck of the shirt, as well as down the middle of his back. After he set his beer down, he wiped his hands on jeans. "I need a shower every time I even set foot outside. I can't seem to get Baby's AC working. What do you have? Make it quick so I can clean up."

A pair of dark blue eyes squinted judgingly in his direction. "Nice to see you, too, Winchester. Mind getting me a beer?" The air conditioning unit made some clunking sounds and then squealed as it cranked up, forcing the occupants of the room to wince.

"Ah, annoyed with me already and I just got here." Dean approached the table with two beers, the unopened one against his forehead. He handed over the sweaty beer.

"Great, thanks," was the sarcastic reply. Dean sat down and leaned in to see the laptop screen; he reeked of sweat and car grease. "And I've been annoyed with you since we were 13."

His lips turned up in a smirk. There was that lovely reminder he was waiting for. "Aw, you love me."

"In your dreams. Anyway, reports of missing people started flowing in about a month ago and haven't stopped. There have also been three drownings reported in the past two weeks, some coinciding with missing person reports."

"And? People disappear all the time and they also drown. It's summer. Lotta people swimming." Dean interrupted.

"Right. But the drownings have all occurred in the same areas. Same with the missing person reports. All of them coming from in and around the same areas and on the north side of the river. I've triangulated the reports of where the missing, and deceased, persons last were seen alive." A click of the keyboard brought up another screen and marked in varying colors were the three items, repeated on the map, and all very close to each other. "And the missing people are all grown men. None of them local."

The laptop was angled more towards Dean, so he could get a better view without leaning in closer. They sat and contemplated the map for a moment and then he stood up and headed straight for the bathroom, peeling his shirt up as he went. "Guess we can check it out."

Christa closed her eyes in exasperation. She'd been sitting here for hours, doing her "homework" and with only a single text much earlier in the day about him finally hitting the road. She expected him hours ago, but had no idea he'd stopped to try to fix his car's air conditioning. Just when she was going to throw in the towel and send out another request for a partner, she heard the Impala pull up. Typical Dean, doing things on his own schedule with no sense of urgency.

Her annoyance with Dean started as a self-defense mechanism. They met at age 13 and she developed a huge crush on him almost immediately. She quickly found out he was what they called a "player;" he always flirted with her when it was convenient, but then would turn his attention elsewhere. Over time, and especially after one night in Omaha, she found his cockiness and charm honestly abhorrent. Now, she borderline hated him and had no issues making sure he was reminded as often as possible. That turned out to be once in a blue moon, though, as she almost always chose Sam or another available hunter to work with, avoiding the older Winchester as much as possible.

When the bathroom door shut behind him, she muttered, "I sure do miss working with Sam. At least he's punctual and considerate." A lot louder, she said towards the bathroom, "Don't use my shampoo! It's expensive!"

Dean vaguely heard her but was already giving approval via a sniff-test. If she was already mad at him, it didn't matter. He shrugged and squirted some into his palms, only mildly concerned that it was bright blue, then lathered up his hair. Cool water felt nice. It had been two weeks in the south eastern United States, now, and he only just arrived in Charleston. Of course, he'd been the closest to _her._ Sam was supposed to be here, but he was in the middle of a case up in Jersey. If Sam hadn't urged him to come, he would have driven back to Kansas and let someone else handle her. He felt if he didn't leave this humidity behind sooner rather than later, there'd be hell to pay. At least the motel room bill was on someone else for a change.

* * *

Christa finished her beer after a nice long stretch. She was ready for the night, when she operated best.

Dean didn't take long to shower. Christa closed her laptop when she heard the water shut off. "I'm going for food and beer," she announced.

Dean glanced at the bathroom door, having heard "beer," and "food," and toweled off. "Sounds good," he called back through the door.

Christa sniffed and then rolled her eyes. "You used my shampoo, didn't you?" She asked across the motel room. She couldn't see it but Dean rolled his eyes and silently mimicked her.

After a lengthy sigh, she grabbed her key and left the room. As soon as she walked out, the humid, heavy, sticky air encompassed her. She was a native to the south, but this humidity would make anyone miserable. The worst part was that the air got thicker without getting much cooler as the night wore on. And the sun had only just set. She set off across the parking lot to the dive bar across the highway.

Dean finally emerged and his face contorted into a scowl when the humid air seeped into his clothes once again. "Never getting used to this." He shook his head and headed towards a flashing neon sign that had to be proclaiming the bar she had spoken about.

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket before crossing the highway and shot a text to Sam, cursing him for making him come to Charleston.

It was noisy. It wasn't extremely crowded. It was dark. It was also air conditioned. Christa nodded her approval and swooped onto a seat at the bar that another patron had just vacated. If she ended up having a difficult case, then it would be a long few days, and she wasn't ready to expend too much energy deflecting Dean's sad attempts at being charming. Originally, she had asked for Sam, who apologized profusely and sent Dean, instead. Sam owed her one, big time. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Dean stroll in and mentally played out his next moves: jukebox, drinks, food. He was certainly a creature of habit.

Sure enough, after placing an order for a tallboy and some chicken tenders, she glanced in the mirror behind the bar and saw Dean heading straight for a neon-colored box filled with CDs.

Once he selected a few of his favorite classic rock songs, Dean headed straight for a recently-vacated high top bar table and waited for service. It's not that he didn't like Christa, but she was one of few women who weren't susceptible to his charms or good looks. And she was damn good looking, herself, but Dean would never admit it to her. Having not seen her in person for a few years, he was a little surprised at how attractive she was. It was hard enough not pushing her buttons, as it seemed to be easier to do every time they crossed paths. He thought they hadn't gone an hour being awake without arguing about something in probably over ten years.

A memory surfaced and Dean grinned inwardly. His dad had dragged him to Nebraska to help with a hunt and had left Sam with a friend so he could take his exams. Christa and her mom had done the preliminary work. The kids were eighteen and had procured a few beers, which seemed to mellow Christa out and make her find him less annoying. Dean made a move and was surprised Christa was so receptive to him. The adults were out for the night, hunting, and Dean and Christa hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. Their make-out session got hot and heavy, but right as Dean was about to take off her pants, she pulled away. It was part of the reason he felt like Christa was his personal challenge to get her to like him. She did once, maybe she would again.

Dean took a gulp of his drink and glanced in Christa's direction. He was a bit surprised she was alone; surely she had someone in her life. If so, it must be someone who didn't know what she did, considering she was on her own more often than not. Dean's mind wandered, more curious about his current partner than he'd like to admit. Most women he hunted with were either married to another hunter or had sworn off relationships aside from familial ones. Christa seemed to be the exception in that she had never expressed any interest in joining a group or him and Sam permanently.

Not surprisingly, Christa overheard the older Winchester drop a line with the cute bartender. There wasn't much of a younger crowd to choose from and Christa had already eyed the same bartender a couple times. She thought about seriously hitting on her but wagered Dean would take it as an invite to a threesome. Still, Christa flirted with her a little bit, trying to get a read on her. The bartender was fairly short, but she was really cute – expressive eyes, nice lips, and a smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose.

After she downed another beer, Christa paid her tab; the bartender wasn't interested. She walked right past Dean without even acknowledging him. They'd have to talk plenty tomorrow, as they worked out if there was a case here.

Christa was happy to have the bathroom for awhile. It was going to be a long few days sharing space with a stubborn Winchester who loved greasy food and alcohol. She took her time showering, as she was sure Dean would find something to distract himself. Afterwards she turned on the TV, muted it, and changed into a clean tank top and underwear and climbed into bed. Before she shut off the lamp, she shot Sam a text of a winking smiley face and a very sarcastic _having the time of my liiiiiiife!,_ set an alarm, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Startled out of a very explicit sex dream starring none other than Dean Winchester, Christa sat bolt upright and snatched her phone to shut off the alarm as it repeatedly blared. She hastily adjusted her tank top as Dean opened one eye.

"Morning," came the gruff voice from the bed beside hers.

"Coroner's office today," Christa replied. "Mind getting some coffee going?" She swung her feet to the floor and then got caught in a stretch. Dean's eyebrow lifted as he watched her back arch and arms bend behind her head. When she finished, he made eye contact and then motioned for her to go to the bathroom while he rubbed his eyes with his other hand. She climbed out of bed, grabbed her "work clothes," and shut the bathroom door behind her.

Dean checked his phone for messages, then stretched and got out of bed to brew a pot of coffee and get dressed. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it aside.

* * *

Christa juggled her coffee cup and briefcase as she slid onto the already-hot front seat of the Impala. They left as soon as she put the address of the coroner's office of Charleston County, South Carolina into her phone.

Upon arriving, they presented SCBI badges and declared they were agents "Cobain and Love." Autopsy reports were copied for three recovered drowning victims and skimmed by "Cobain" before being tucked into her briefcase. When they finished with all the formalities with the coroner, they took their leave.

They next stopped at the local police precinct and got copies of all reports of missing men, aged 18 and up, within the past month. A few cops milled about, and Dean hung back while Christa flirted with them to get more information about the missing people. It didn't take long, because it was a very slow day for the police due to the extreme heat. One of the cops nudged Dean as Christa tossed her head and laughed at a terrible joke another deputy made, then grinned and gestured at Christa. Dean grinned back at him and tilted his head in agreement.

Back in the Impala, Christa removed her suit jacket and tossed it in the backseat. He, too, pulled off his jacket and loosened his tie. It was only 11AM and he was sweating just standing outside. "I don't know how you live like this," he said to his partner, glancing over at her again. "The air is 90% water," he finished. She had unbuttoned sleeveless blouse a couple buttons and her arms were already covered in a glisten of sweat.

She merely grunted in reply, already reading the files and making notes on them. It was going to be a long day.

When they got back to the motel, Christa fought with the air conditioner until it put out a decent amount of cool air. She couldn't concentrate in this heat and she didn't want to listen to Dean complain. When the unit finally sputtered out a constant stream of air, Christa sat down at her laptop and started pulling up files as Dean reviewed the autopsy reports. He had stripped off his tie and dress shirt and un-tucked his undershirt. Christa unbuttoned her blouse more, fanning cool air onto her chest. Her skin seemed to stay warm no matter what she did and she was trying not to think about how good Dean's cologne smelled.

"So this all started about a month ago? And all the vics are men, all went missing near water, and all were from outside the area." He paused. "And they all had similar markings on their forearms," he trailed off, reading her margin notes. He looked up at her and watched her fan herself with one hand and type with another. The AC unit started to whine and cough, so Dean got up and banged on it. It kicked back on and he sat down across from Christa, studying the markings more closely.

"I'm not finding anything," Christa sighed after several minutes. "No other occurrences of this happening so much. In fact, the last time several men went missing so quickly was the early 1800's. We might be dealing with a bog witch, or even ghost lights."

Dean looked up at her and then went to his bag and dug out a few books. "The markings might help," he said. He sat back down and started flipping through the books. After several minutes, he threw up his hands. "I got nothing. Were there hex bags recovered off the bodies?"

Christa pulled up her reports again and shook her head. "Nothing I have mentions anything like that. What does the mark look like, again?"

Dean described it to her and she put the description into Google. Two hits came back and had nothing to do with her input.

"So, maybe it really is nothing? Maybe the marks are from them dragging the river for the corpses. I don't know what else it could be," Dean said. He was confident that, despite the strangeness of the markings, there wasn't a case here except for a bunch of stupid guys ending up dead.

Christa rolled her eyes. Leave it to Dean to find an easy out. "Don't be lazy. There's something going on."

Dean shrugged and shook his head. "So what do you suggest we do?"

He watched her pace the room, muttering to herself as she tried to find a break in the case. Her mind was like a steel trap, Dean thought; she retained an insane amount of information. But the marks were new to them; they'd never seen anything like it before. She was crossing off items on a physical list every few minutes as she stopped to fan herself. Her blouse was damp with sweat under the arms and down her back. If he was miserably hot, he knew she was, too.

He leaned back from the laptop and looked out the front window. The motel was deserted aside from the two of them. "Can we take a break? This heat is killing me."

"And do what? The Impala doesn't have working air and the bar doesn't open until 5PM." Christa snapped because he'd interrupted her thought process. She hated that. Sam usually waited until she was done before approaching her. She really missed the younger Winchester; they worked together much better.

Dean shrugged. "There's a pool."

"You actually brought a bathing suit?" Christa asked him incredulously.

Dean shrugged again. "No, but who's gonna care? There's nobody here but us." He gestured to the window and Christa walked over and looked out from across the tiny table they were using as their research area. It was a little strange that they were the only ones here, but she decided a swim would at least let her think in peace.

* * *

He watched her do laps, giving her credit for how in shape she must be to tirelessly swim back and forth. After several minutes, he closed his eyes and sank back. A scene from a campy film entered his brain – some nerdy kid had almost drowned and then tricked the hot lifeguard into a kiss as she administered CPR. It was far too juvenile a move for Dean Winchester to make, but the thought of Christa hovering over him and pressing her lips to his mouth was not a bad thought. It was a shame she disliked him so much – they could have some real fun together if she'd just relax.

Thirty minutes later, she unabashedly pulled herself out of the water, squeezed the excess water from her bra, and grabbed her towel. "I'm going back to research, more. Police scanner might also have something."

Dean nodded and waved. He lingered for awhile longer before rejoining her in their room.

* * *

Christa sat at the table, hair in a towel, going through every website and every connection she knew to find the meaning behind the marks. Dean was in the shower, rinsing off. He'd made a quip about them showering together and Christa rolled her eyes at him and shut the bathroom door in his face.

Her mind wandered from the task at-hand and briefly imagined him naked. Christa shook her head to clear that thought and made a face. She wouldn't let Dean Winchester get to her. She hadn't, yet.

The water turned off and Christa realized she was staring at the bathroom door. She turned back to her computer and started pulling up online libraries. The mark had to be documented, somewhere.

Over an hour later, Dean groaned and rubbed his face, setting aside yet another book of symbols. He looked up at Christa and noticed her wide blue eyes, staring over his shoulder blankly. He wondered what she could possibly be thinking about; then he got up and retrieved a couple beers. She didn't respond when he first held it out to her, so he nudged her gently with the cold bottle and then she seemed to snap out of it.

Somewhat startled, she nodded her thanks and took it from him and took a long, deep gulp. If anyone was going to crack this case, it was her. She was very smart, almost intimidatingly so, and her intuition was almost flawless. He had never seen her so stumped. A smirk tugged at his lips as he sat back down and he couldn't help himself. "We could always distract ourselves for a little while; get our minds off the case. Got anything you want to bounce off me?"

Christa's eyes narrowed and slowly met his as she set her beer down. "Just my fist, Winchester. I know we're getting close. Just… focus, please."

He slumped a little bit and opened a book of arcane symbols in front of him.

* * *

They were each devouring their third slice of pizza when a report of a body found near the Ashley came over the scanner. Christa jotted down the descriptors as fast as she could, as well as the longitude and latitude of the last-known sighting. Dean perked up and came around to the other side of the table, leaning over her, as she plugged in the coordinates. It was a solid match for all the other disappearances. She turned to him, made a disgusted face, and shoved him away. "Don't chew next to my ear, Winchester. That's gross."

Dean scrunched his face and gnashed the rest of the food with an open mouth and audibly swallowed. "My bad, princess. I'll go get dressed." He grabbed his suit and changed by his bed while Christa got a few things together. She changed out in the open, also, since there was no time to waste with modesty. They were ready in ten minutes and on the highway headed toward the location from the scanner.

The scanner was perched on the dash and on, just in case. Sure enough, right as they were turning off the highway, EMTs were reporting a living John Doe that matched the description being taken to the nearest hospital.

Dean pulled a hard u-turn and Christa cussed him out as she was flung against the passenger door, her papers going everywhere as her briefcase flew open. "Oops?"

* * *

The hospital was relatively quiet as "Cobain" and "Love" found their way to the recovery room. Minor procedures of a couple stitches and some excess fluids being drained meant the victim was awake and could talk. He smelled briny, but also a bit like liquor and peat.

It reminded Dean of some of his worst hangover days.

Christa let him do most of the interviewing with the doctor and nurses, but she started with the patient. She seated herself next to his bed and gently touched his arm to get his attention. She smiled at him and introduced herself. "I'm Agent Cobain with the SCBI, and just need to ask you a few questions."

"SCBI? Do I need a lawyer?"

Agent Cobain paused and Agent Love swooped in. "We're just trying to gather facts of what lead up to your near-drowning. We have reason to believe there was foul play."

The man scoffed and then turned away, obviously formulating his thoughts. Cobain looked more closely at his forearm and saw no sign of the mark matching the other victims. "Where are you from, Mr. Burns?"

"Uh, Spartanburg. I come out here to fish, sometimes. Mostly with friends but this time I came alone." Agent Cobain looked pointedly at Love, again. He scratched his chin and nodded, looking around the hospital room for clues.

"So nobody else was with you all evening?" Agent Cobain pressed. "You didn't meet up with anyone or see anybody? Do you have any enemies by chance?" She sat back, waiting for him to answer.

"No, nobody. I… I don't think I have enemies?" His eyes flicked from one agent to the other. "Do you think somebody… is somebody trying to kill me?"

"Not that we know of," Agent Love interjected. "Just narrowing down the possibilities."

"Do you remember anything else about the river? Was it especially cold in some areas? Did it smell like rotten eggs, at all? Did you see weird lights or noises?" Cobain pressed.

"I don't remember," Mr. Burns admitted. He hung his head and closed his eyes. They reopened a moment later. "Wait, yes. I… I did feel something cold. It was like a cold breeze suddenly came by and that's all I remember. One minute I was on the bank of the river, the next, in an ambulance." He was staring at Christa, now. Dean quietly sifted through his belongings and came up empty handed. "And I thought I had a dream…" his voice trailed off and his face suddenly became flushed. "Um, never mind. Must just be oxygen deprivation," he quickly corrected himself.

Agent Cobain nodded and gently touched his arm again, "Thank you Mr. Burns. We'll be in touch if we need anything else."

Christa nodded at Dean and they began to leave when Mr. Burns let out a hoarse chuckle. "I just got it: Cobain and Love. They stick you together on purpose?"

Agent Love cracked a smirk and shook his head, "They have a sick sense of humor over at the Bureau. Goodnight, sir."

Dean drove the Impala straight to the dive bar across the highway from their motel after the interview. He was interested in seeing if the cute bartender was working again because he didn't need pent up frustration driving him crazy or he might do something stupid. Christa protested and said she needed to put her notes on her laptop and wanted to change her clothes. His response was to shrug and suggested she hoof it if she didn't want to come in. He tossed his suit jacket into the backseat and loosened his tie as he checked himself out in the rear-view.

Christa, knowing she was getting closer to cracking the case, walked back to the motel and typed up her newest notes. Never had a case frustrated her more. There had to be something on that damn symbol. She checked her phone, seeing if anyone else had something for her; nothing. She sighed and checked her email; there was something from someone she didn't know. The subject read, "Mystery Mark," so she opened it and her eyes went wide. She made a note to find the email sender and thank them, later.


	2. Chapter 2

Christa raced back to the bar without changing, having found her breakthrough. She dragged Dean away from the bar – and the bartender – and into a booth on the back wall where they could talk. Immediately, she told him what she'd read in the email.

"It's a sound," she explained, "from ancient languages in the Middle East. Like, seriously ancient. The sound was made when somebody took God's name in vain or committed a sin. It was rumored the symbol for the sound – like the one on the arms of our vics – would be carved into their skin as a marker for Hell. As in, when you die, do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars. There have been a handful of other times this specific marking has surfaced and been documented. It showed up on some of the victims of Jack the Ripper, HH Holmes, survivors of the Donner Party, to name a few. And it's rumored that there was an Inn Keeper in the early 1800s, named Lavinia Fisher, who lived just outside the old town line. She murdered men – some by poison, some by drowning. Only a few bodies were ever recovered. She was hanged for her supposed crimes about two centuries ago."

"So this Lydia Fisher lady is back after 200-some-odd years? Why now? Why hasn't she been leaving men's bodies in the river marked for hell since then? And more importantly, is she a witch?"

"Lavinia," Christa corrected him. "And I'm not sure this is her; might be a copycat or a witch. Not only that, but after Fisher was hanged, her inns were burned down. There has to be something that either brought her back or is tying her here if it is her. Maybe she was more careful in the past with only a couple victims at a time. But it seems like she's either getting sloppy or she's more powerful. Or it's not her at all."

Dean had turned his head to view the bar better. He gave her a side eye as she rambled, waited until she was finished, and cleared his throat. "So where do we start? You think Lydia or whatever is dragging men into the river for some kind of sacrifice? Soul harvesting? Witch ritual?" Dean shuddered; he really hated witches.

She rolled her eyes at his fear of witches. At least he was staying on topic. "Lavinia," she corrected him again, annoyed. "I couldn't find many hard facts of her online – there were too many conflicting stories. Some say she was the first female serial killer, others say she was merely insane, still others thought she was trying to wed men for their money. And some even said she was a scientist, concocting undetectable poisons for her victims to swallow. There're a few local historians in Old Town, one of them a professor, and I think we should start with them. See if we can get details on Fisher to line up."

He nodded, waved his hand at her, and got up to order another round. She noticed he'd been hitting on the younger bartender tonight and wondered how far they'd gotten last night. Of course they'd have the same taste in people, which Christa also found annoying. Waiting for him to come back, she slumped back and finished off her own beer. She checked her phone and saw a text from Sam that merely said, "I bet," and also had a winking smiley face. She grinned a bit and asked him how he was doing. He replied immediately with just, "bored af" and Christa grinned wider. She sent him: _haha. Wanna join us? Really on to something, here._

Returning with beers in hand for both of them, Dean's eyebrow quirked seeing her smile at her phone. She looked more relaxed. He remembered he had no idea if she was seeing somebody and dropped a casual question. "Checking in with the old man?"

Christa scoffed, "Old man," as she took the beer he offered. "What old man?" She raised an eyebrow at him, sipped, and replied, "Awful personal question coming from you, Winchester. I'm actually talking to Sam." Her phone lit up again and she smirked, then sent another text right back.

Dean felt a slight pang of envy that she smiled so easily at a simple text from his younger brother. Also, he had never heard back from his little brother. Suddenly, his phone pinged and he looked at his messages – sure enough, it was Sam responding to his text from last night. He noticed Christa's smile widened just a bit when he glanced up; she was typing back to Sam again already. He would never understand what women saw in that giant brother of his, aside from those puppy dog eyes and a life full of angst. Dean wondered if Christa and Sam had ever hooked up. They used to wrestle a lot and were almost connected at the hip at one point, so it wasn't completely out of the question. Christa interrupted his thoughts with another giggle, "He says he's surprised I didn't kill you for using my shampoo." She sipped her beer shaking her head as her phone lit up again. Dean rolled his eyes and went back to surveying his surroundings, taking note that his phone was oddly quiet.

* * *

Christa let herself relax with the weight of the research off her shoulders. Dean's interest in the bartender meant he wasn't using his charm on her, which also helped. She matched Dean drink for drink for the first time in a long time. After their third shot each, somewhere between their fourth and fifth beers, Dean pulled a reluctant-but-giggly Christa to dance to some old hokey country tune. He was kind of hoping to get a genuine laugh from her, which he did when he sang along to parts of it. He found himself liking seeing her laugh, since it was such a rarity to see her let loose while on a hunt, especially with him. Maybe she was susceptible to his charms, after all.

They were some of the last patrons to leave, stumbling across the highway and the rough blacktop of the parking lot together. Almost immediately after taking her high heels off, Christa stubbed her toe. She cussed and then sat down to examine her toe. It was difficult to do in the darkness of the parking lot.

"Oh my god, it's not that bad," he said to her. She pouted even harder and stared up at him as he walked back to her.

"Fuck off, I think I'm bleeding. Jerk." Her speech was fairly slurred, but she was still coherent.

He leaned down, refraining from replying with "bitch," and helped her up, putting an arm around her waist to help steady her. "Cooome on. Oopsie daisy." She put her weight on one leg and drunkenly hopped while clinging to him, almost falling down a couple times. After a couple close calls of falling, he gave up and scooped her into his arms.

Christa let out a little cry of surprise when he picked her up. She clung to his shoulders, and her shoes, as he staggered to the motel room door. Struggling, Dean tried shoving the key into the lock without dropping her. Laughing, she took the keys from him and unlocked the door. Crossing the threshold, he banged her knee on the door frame and she laughed out a comment about how he was doing more harm than good. He eventually got them both inside, kicked the door shut, and dumped Christa on her bed. He didn't think they'd drank that much, but his vision was swimming a little bit. Just to be an ass, he made a show of trying to catch his breath as he leaned down over her.

She bounced ever so slightly as she fell from his arms onto the mattress and his eyes raked down her body, taking in the tightness of her skirt and the low-cut neckline of her blouse. His dramatic huffing quieted as his train of thought derailed; he thought once again how it was a shame that she disliked him so much.

Christa watched him closely, her blue eyes wide with confusion. Was he going to make a move on her? Was he going to puke? Why did he smell _so_ good? He met her gaze and she felt her breath get caught in her chest when she saw the lust in his eyes. She felt her cheeks grow warm and a nervous laugh escaped her lips. "Better get back to working out, huh?" She teased, sitting up on her elbows and trying to scoot out from under him.

Dean grinned down at her, noticing her flushed face. "Am I going to be carrying you across more thresholds?" He asked in a low voice. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on her thigh where her skirt slit ended. He felt the lacy tops of her stockings under his calloused fingers and almost groaned. Christa felt like his hand seared her skin where it made contact.

"What…?" Before she could push him away, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Christa's eyes widened in surprise and she felt his tongue against her lips. Her heart was pounding as her brain went into overdriven confusion. He gently nipped her lower lip; Christa let out an involuntary moan and felt herself give in, her desire overpowering her. Her lips parted for his tongue and he slid his hand under her skirt; she felt him shift as he brought a knee on to the bed beside her. She couldn't believe how much she was wanting him or how much he was turning her on – her mind flashed images of him pounding into her, sending her into the throes of ecstasy.

But she wouldn't let him have her; she couldn't. She broke the kiss and gently pushed him away, scooting back from him. "Enough, Winchester. Go take a cold shower."

Dean noticed her voice was a little shaky and she refused to make eye contact. He bit back a frustrated groan, removed his hand from her leg, and went into the bathroom while adjusting himself.

Christa swung her feet to the floor and shuddered, wiping her mouth. That came out of absolutely nowhere and if she hated one thing more than she hated Dean, it was surprises. She pushed her hair back and took a couple deep breaths. His kiss lingered on her lips, and she wanted to slap him. How dare he kiss her without permission? He was going to ruin everything if she let him in, she just knew it.

The heat between her thighs told her she should get in there and face the repercussions later. She almost got up when a flashback to age thirteen, and Dean Winchester breaking her heart, made her stop.

She grabbed her phone and texted Sam one more time in the hopes his presence would dampen the tension that Dean just cranked to eleven. She sent only: _hurry up, we could use the help._

When Dean was finished, she took her pajamas and went in to shower.

He didn't use her shampoo, this time.

* * *

The next morning, Dean went back for the Impala and made a breakfast run while Christa got dressed. The tension between them was palpable and he thought he might have done more than get under her skin. He wondered if he'd imagined her kissing him back because he was drunk and he wanted her to. A thought occurred to him, suddenly – the last time Christa was in a relationship, she was with another woman. Dean mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. It all made sense, now. He owed her a big apology.

* * *

While approaching their first destination, Dean cleared his throat and broached the awkward silence. "So, last night," he began.

Christa shifted uncomfortably. "You don't… we don't have to talk about it." She said, looking out her window.

"So, it meant nothing, then. Just a drunk mistake?" His eyes darted to her. "Like uh, like when we were teens." It was tricky, trying to gauge if she knew her preference all the way back then, and if she'd admit it. She probably thought he was denser than memory foam by this point.

"Yup, and it won't happen again. We have a case to solve and we need to be on top of it. This is my job, Winchester, and I take it seriously."

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were," he began.

She interrupted him, "I said I don't want to talk about it."

The rest of the ride was in silence.

* * *

In the parlor of an old Victorian home, authors "Hardy" and "Austen" sipped tea and listened to an older lady talk about the history of Charleston. It was their third house of the day and it was so hot outside that they didn't mind being squeezed onto a very small love seat, with Christa almost half in Dean's lap. She was trying not to be visibly uncomfortable. Dean kept addressing her as "sweetheart," which meant Christa was using all of her willpower to smile lovingly at him instead of punching him. When their hostess took a sip of tea, "Hardy" spoke up and asked about any specific lore she felt like sharing.

Mrs. Hauer pursed her lips and set her teacup down. "Well, sure, but I thought you were writing a book on the history of the area? To my knowledge, folktales aren't history."

"Ma'am, actually our work is actually on all kinds of local legends, as well as history." Christa interjected, smiling. "After all, folktales enrich cultures and sometimes set a precedent for societal norms and things like that. And… and we were a bit curious about the recent drowning. We know that so many people haven't disappeared all at once in a long while and were wondering if there was any folktale from around here that mentioned anything of the sort."

The woman smiled at the handsome man across from her, then turned back to the younger woman. "I had not heard the reports of so many young men drowning. How odd. Seems to me there must be something going around? Maybe it's one of those, oh, what do you call it? Like a Jonestown thing."

Dean smiled widely. "A suicide cult! Well, if it is, they're taking their time with it, huh?"

Christa clenched her jaw and set her tea down, then turned towards him a little, forcing a smile. "I really don't think it's a cult." She turned back to Mrs. Hauer. "Has anything like this happened before?"

Mrs. Hauer hesitated as she took a sip of tea. "Not that I know of. There are always some people who drown, yes, but a suicide cult? Here? I've never heard of one."

Dean shrugged and waved a hand nonchalantly. "I think it's probably just people being careless. Nothing to be concerned about."

Christa dug an elbow into his side before she turned her attention back to their host. "Can you tell us what you know about Lavinia Fisher, then? She seems utterly fascinating. We've gotten some conflicting information about her and we'd like another viewpoint."

"As a historian, of course I'm very well-versed on local lore." Their host settled into her chair further and she told them her tale of Lavinia Fisher, innkeeper at the Five- and Six-Mile Inns of the early 1800s.

When she finished, Dean wrapped his arm around Christa's waist and stood up. She wasn't ready, so his hand slipped up her side and he ended up cupping her breast. Christa shot up off the seat at that point, her entire body tingling. Dean let go of her and held his hand out to shake. "Thank you for your time and the tea, Mrs. Hauer."

Outside, Christa's anger flared and she started trembling – first the kiss, now a little light groping. "What. The fuck. Dean."

He put his hands up and shrugged his shoulder. "My bad. I wasn't trying to cop a feel!"

Christa jabbed a finger into his chest. "You're on super thin ice, Winchester. Watch it next time."

She stormed to the Impala ahead of him.

As Dean drove them back to the motel, Christa's brows were deeply furrowed. Dean didn't want to ask, but he did anyway. "What is it, now?"

"She's lying. She knows something."

"She's just some weird old lady. We got some useful information from her; let's get out of this heat."

Christa shot him a glare. "I never told her the drowned people were men. She knows about them. She must know something else."

Dean shrugged and pulled off the highway.

* * *

It only took a few minutes, but Christa jumped out of her chair and shouted when she found it. "I knew it! Mrs. Hauer's husband died in 1987. And do you know how?" She asked, rapidly clicking her mouse and typing as she talked.

He looked over at her, previously distracted by the television. "Uh, he drowned?"

"In the Ashley!" Christa confirmed. "So we know that there's been a trend of men being drowned in the river, going back some 200 years." Dean nodded. "On top of that? I found the sight of the old Six-Mile Inn. There's an old naval hospital built on the site, but there might be something there we can use."

"Oookay," Dean replied, his attention going back to channel surfing. "I guess we should check it out, then."

Christa nodded and looked at her watch, confirming the hottest part of the day had passed. "We should head out there as soon as possible. How quickly can you be ready?" She figured the sooner they caught whatever it was and killed it, the sooner they could part ways and he could go annoy someone else.

"Whoa, slow down. Why don't we grab some food in some decent air conditioning, first?" Dean stood up and shut the television off, then watched Christa plug in her now closed laptop. Hazy flashes to the night before, carrying her into their motel room like he was some alpha male, finding it impossible not to kiss her – and wanting to do more – made him clear his throat and rub his chin.

Christa stood up and sighed. "God, Dean, seriously? You just want to flirt with that bartender more. You can say it, it won't hurt my feelings. In case you hadn't noticed, I don't like you. Like, as a person. And you've barely contributed to this case! Why did you even come?"

Dean had enough of her constantly picking a fight to get her own way. He briefly tugged on his hair, trying not to explode on her. She stood in front of him, arms folded under her breasts and her hip cocked to the side and it frustrated him more. His eyes darkened and he let go of his frustration, his voice loud and gravelly, "It's just food, sweetheart. And we don't need to be staked-out there until after dark, anyway, unless you want police to be asking us questions. I'm going to the bar; if you don't want to come, then stay here and melt like the witch you are." He didn't feel like sticking around to hear her retort, so he grabbed his wallet and phone and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Christa gaped at him. He'd been easier to deal with than expected the past couple days, but he was apparently bottling instead of bickering with her as much as he usually did. She jumped when he slammed the door and then threw a coffee mug at the wall, shattering it. "Fuck you, Winchester! UGH." She sat down in her chair again, trembling, hot tears of frustration falling down her cheeks. Why was he so stubborn and egotistical?

She wiped her face off and then gave the struggling AC unit a good whack. It creaked to life and started blowing cool air. She retrieved the television remote and sat on the foot of her bed to flip through channels. Despite checking periodically, her phone showed no new messages from Sam.

About an hour passed until she had to get up to hit the unit again because it was getting unbearably warm in the room. It sputtered, belched a burst of cool air and promptly shut off again. Christa felt like she could scream. She wanted to leave this shithole and get far away as quickly as possible. The last place she wanted to be was anywhere near Dean Winchester. She'd entertained the idea of hot wiring his Baby and going to the hospital alone, but she knew she needed one more person with her to watch her back.

She grabbed some cash and shoved it into her pocket before leaving the motel room. A drink sounded good right now. And so did actual air conditioning.


	3. Chapter 3

The bar was busier than it had been all week. They had a few hours to kill, as nightfall wasn't until around 2100 this far south in the summer. Christa looked around, hoping for a seat away from Dean so she could refocus her thoughts and put together a plan of action. He, however, was already settled in, flirting with the bartender, and soon had a couple fingers of whisky sitting in front of him.

She eventually found a spot at the other end of the bar and ordered a cold beer. The walk over was exceptionally hot. She took a long swig and begrudgingly accepted that she'd end up on first watch, either because Dean was MIA screwing the bartender or because he'd been irresponsible with his drinking. Bitterly, she thought how Sam would never let himself get so distracted when there was business to do.

Dean's laughter floated through the crowd and Christa had to force herself not to mock him. Couldn't he wait until after tonight? He could celebrate a successful hunt however he wanted for all she cared. Then again, when you hunted things for a living, you never knew where your grave was going to be and she was definitely guilty of more than one one-night-stand while on the job. Maybe if he let off a little steam, it would be easier for everyone to focus. She whittled away time by jotting notes on napkins about the case and forming an outline of everything they knew.

Christa decided to wait to order food and slowed down her drinking, as it looked more and more like she'd be driving. The flirting between the bartender and Dean hadn't abated. She stuffed the written-on napkins into her pocket and went to the jukebox with her beer. Enough money was deposited to play several of her favorite songs. Some classic country always soothed her nerves before a hunt and also distracted her from thinking about Dean banging the bartender while another person could very well end up missing.

* * *

Christa picked at what remained of her food as she sat at a high top. The evening seemed to drag, but nightfall wasn't far, now. Her somewhat soothed nerves were dialed back up when she was rudely grabbed on the way back from the bathroom. After she twisted the poor scumbag's wrist, she decided it was time to get some food into her. It took her ten minutes to get the bartender's attention to order said food because the poor thing was entirely distracted by Winchester's cheesy charm. Christa had to relocate to a high-top table to eat, as the bar was completely full. She checked her phone yet again and saw no texts from Sam, which irked her even more. She shoved the half-full food basket away.

Dean had disappeared somewhere, which was unfortunate because she wanted to at least give him her notes so he was ready for later. A couple different men approached her and were polite enough, but she waved them off after a few moments; a strange tightness started growing in her lower abdomen.

It was getting late and she was anxious to leave. She automatically did another visual sweep of the bar to find an opening to go ask for her tab and saw Dean was posted back in his spot. Of course, the only place open enough to wedge herself back in was right next to Winchester. She sighed and shoved in next to him.

Dean looked over to see Christa, who looked especially unhappy. He made a little more room for her, more so that he wouldn't touch her on accident, and swallowed some of his whisky. The music had been turned up and some folks were line dancing, their heels stomping on the wooden floor. Dean had to lean in close for her to hear him without him shouting at her. "What's this I hear about you almost breaking some guy's wrist?" He swallowed a chuckle as her eyes got big. "Word travels fast." The man gave a description to several buddies and they asked if he was going to press charges, which he had overheard easily enough.

Christa frowned and looked over her shoulder out of habit. "Some people don't know how to keep their hands to themselves, so I made sure he'd remember," she sneered, unable to help it with how crappy her evening had gone. "You about ready to head out or am I gonna have to pick you up somewhere, Winchester?" She emphasized his last name, to make sure he knew she wasn't in the mood. She had the napkins in her hand, ready to hand over.

Dean sighed; she really knew how to ruin a good buzz. He was about to tell her to do whatever she wanted when a very drunk man pushed in next to Christa and grabbed her arm. She recoiled and Dean saw her clenched fist rise. He was about to turn away and let her handle it, but they didn't need a bar fight tonight. It was tough enough hunting without a black eye or bruised ribcage. Instead, he slid his hand onto her waist and protectively pulled her in front of him, making sure the guy saw him do it. Sure enough, the guy backed off and disappeared when he thought Dean was claiming her for his own. He noticed Christa stiffen and then waited for her to step on his foot or head-butt him for touching without permission.

Christa's nerves were singing, now. Her adrenaline flooded through her and she was fully in fight-flight-or-fuck mode. She wanted to punch the strange man in the face and deck Dean Winchester right after. She took a couple deep breaths, which helped, but Dean had his warm hand on her waist and there was no room to go anywhere at the moment. The bar was becoming increasingly packed. She finally got her last round and drank half of it in seconds. Mid-swig, she put cash down on the bar for her food and the beers. Leaving a half-full beer on the bar, she pushed back against him, forcing him to make room for her to duck out.

He felt her push back but didn't immediately move; his mind instead focused on how she felt pressed against him and how he could smell the cleanness of her hair, a soft whiff of perfume she'd put on this morning, and her sweat. Christa firmly pushed an elbow into his abdomen to emphasize her need to leave and told him to move.

Dean let go of her waist. He thought about staying and seeing if this bartender could duck out for a quick break. He definitely needed to let off some steam, but he knew that if he stayed and delayed the case, Christa would never let him hear the end of it. He cussed under his breath and finished his drink, then slapped cash down on the bar and followed her out, staying several steps behind her.

Christa turned the key in the door and swung it open. She walked inside, immediately tying her hair up off her neck as she kicked her boots off. Dean watched her as he shut the door behind him, momentarily feeling sorry for himself and any other man who'd been – and will be – rejected by her. He snapped out of it and then grabbed a bag and started throwing things into it. Christa looked over at him and quipped, "Oh, so you're actually coming with me? What's the matter, did the bartender realize she was too good for you, after all?"

Dean clenched his jaw and shook his head, looking up at her, determined not to rise to her jabs. He was amazed one person could hold so much hatred for someone else – and for no real reason.

Christa glanced up at him through her eyelashes as she bent over to grab her own bag. His green eyes were fixed on her and she could have sworn he looked almost predatory. She ought to tell him to do what he needed to do before they left. Her brow furrowed a bit and she turned away from him and peeled off her shirt, intending to change into a clean one. "Whatever. I just want to get this over with so I can get away from you."

Dean threw up his hands and then wiped his face, exasperated. "Can you just not say anything for five minutes or is it Insult Dean Hour? I can't fucking stand you, sometimes. You're stuck up and mean. And just so we're clear, I didn't hook up with that bartender because I'd rather leave sooner, too. I'd like to be somewhere the air doesn't feel like a swamp."

She spun towards him, her lip curled in annoyance, tossing her shirt to the floor angrily. "I am not stuck up! You just think your good looks and sad attempts at being charming will win over anyone, including me! Get a clue. It's not working." She was heading into the bathroom and stopped next to his bed. She clenched her fists so she wouldn't tremble from anger. "You're a complete jerk who's full of himself. It is utterly and completely annoying."

Dean's eyes darkened and he let his gaze fall from her face to her chest to her legs and back up to her face. She thought he was good-looking? "Yeah? Well you think you know everything and that you're so much smarter than anyone else. You would be much more fun if you'd just loosen up a bit instead of being so tight-assed. You're the worst hunter to work with!"

She laughed and threw up her hands. "Loosen up? Just because your cheesy pick-up lines and pathetic charm don't work on me doesn't mean I'm a tight-ass. You're a complete asshole. Always shirking his duties onto other people because he can't be bothered. Why even hunt anymore?"

Dean had really had enough. "Fine." He pushed by her and headed to the door before this escalated further. She wanted him gone? He'd go and let her hunt on her own – it was a total breach of Hunter Code, but maybe it would teach her a lesson.

"Where are you going, Winchester? We have a ghost to gank!" Christa came after him and grabbed his elbow as he put his hand on the doorknob.

"You don't wanna work with me, then you can do it yourself, sweetheart. I'll get out of your pretty hair." He almost growled at her, "And I'll do things my own way."

She ducked under his arm as he flung it aside and pressed her back to the door, blocking his way. "Don't be so childish, Winchester. We don't have to talk the rest of the night, but I'm not hunting this by myself. You decided to come; you will finish this." His eyes swept down her again and she swallowed. She felt the heat radiating off him and realized the room's air conditioning still hadn't cooled the room much. Why was his scent driving her crazy these past couple days? She suddenly felt mildly intimidated – he had a couple more inches on her since she'd taken off her boots. "Are you listen-?"

Dean barely heard what she was saying. He watched her lips move, her chest rise and fall with every breath, and then looked into her eyes. Dean had no idea how he'd looked over all the signs. The pettiness, the bickering, and the insults – they all added up. She didn't hate him or reject him because she played for the other team – she did it because she was defending herself. He had done the same thing to those he cared about for a long time. She was mid-sentence when he finally leaned in and kissed her – hard.

Christa tensed up when he kissed her and felt her resolve weakening once again. She was fine as long as he didn't kiss her, but she couldn't seem to escape that aspect. Memories of being eighteen in Omaha flooded her mind. She grabbed onto his shirt at the sides and clenched her fists as she mentally waged a war with herself. Dean moved closer to her, pushing her against the door with his body. He felt her hands on his chest and then she shoved him away.

He backed up several paces, the scent of her still in his nostrils and the taste of her still on his lips. Her eyes were dark and hard to read. "Dean," she breathed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her own body felt far away as she melted into his steady gaze. She took a big stride towards him and he caught her as she hopped up and wrapped her legs around him. Her mouth was on his and he shoved her hard against the door as his tongue darted between her lips.

When he came up for air, Christa tilted her head and gently bit his earlobe. He inhaled sharply, squeezing her ass hard. She whispered his name in his ear, again and then pulled away. Green eyes met blue and he felt like he could finally see what she was thinking. Years of avoidance, arguments, and short tempers almost visibly dissolved. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry," Christa whispered.

"I am, too," Dean replied, feeling as if he was falling into her eyes.

"Don't leave," she pleaded, pressing her forehead to his.


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N - Explicit content in this chapter)

He kissed her jaw from ear to chin before taking her mouth with his, again. Her fingers combed through his hair and it made him want to touch all of her. As his hands slid up her waist, he kept her pressed against the door with his hips. His hands found her breasts and he squeezed. She moaned into his mouth and Dean felt light-headed. Years of trying to figure her out, then giving up and just living to push her buttons, subconsciously hoping she would let him in – all of it fell away with that one moan. He knew that there was no turning back, this time. His hands grabbed her hips again as he spun her around and walked her to his bed, deepening the kiss, holding her up for several moments. He finally set her onto it and she let go of him before she unbuttoned her shorts.

Dean reached back and peeled off his shirt. He felt like he was under water, like everything was moving slower than it should be. She was slowly pushing her shorts off her hips, a peek of lace showing between the zippers. He dropped his shirt and his hands yanked her shorts the rest of the way off before he bent down to kiss her thigh from the inside of her knee up towards her groin.

Christa bit her lip and suppressed a wanton moan. "Dean, are you sure you want…?" She wasn't sure whether to finish with "me" or "to."

He briefly looked up at her when she said his first name, again. Her hair was already falling out of the messy bun and her lips were swollen from kissing him. He licked his lips and climbed onto the bed, trailing kisses from her belly button to her breasts, to her chin, to her mouth. He slid his fingertips into the top of her underwear, cupped her, and felt her wetness. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure." He breathed as he ran a finger along her folds.

Christa let out a small, needful moan and her hips twitched.

Dean's mind flashed back to what could have been that day in Nebraska. He slowly rubbed her, barely dipping the tip of his finger into her, letting it graze over her clit, and repeated this motion. She moaned again and he kissed her jaw, turned on at how responsive she was to him.

Christa thought she'd never been so turned on by someone she'd spent so much time hating. She wanted nothing more than to scream his name. She rolled her hips against his touch, hoping it would urge him to get her off.

He continued his slow, lazy strokes. "Tell me what you want," he whispered into her ear. Goose bumps rose on her flesh and she bit her lip, then she turned her face toward his.

She gazed directly into his eyes; every muscle in her body felt like a tightly coiled spring. "Make me come, please," she breathed.

Dean felt himself throb and groaned. He'd make her scream his name in pleasure to make up for all the times she screamed his name in anger.

Neither one noticed nor cared the motel room door was still unlocked.

He peeled her underwear off, dropping them carelessly. He inhaled her scent deeply, groaning in approval. His hand slid between her legs, going back to stimulating her clit once again. She rolled her hips up and sighed, grasping one of her breasts. Dean leaned down, brushing his lips against hers until she leaned up and kissed him. He kissed her eagerly as she moved against him and moaned into his mouth. He felt her back arch more as she undid her bra and then he heard it get added to the growing clothes pile on the floor.

When he pulled away, Christa's eyes slowly opened. "Make me come," she repeated in a voice low with lust. Dean nodded and slid a finger into her, making her gasp. He slid another one in, eliciting a loud moan from her. Suddenly, this was all he wanted to do tonight – explore her body, fuck her brains out, and make her scream. Christa closed her eyes again, because watching Dean would send her over the edge and she wanted to savor this.

Dean withdrew his hand without warning. Christa swallowed a whimper and then gasped when he spread her legs and blew gently on her sex.

She felt sure this was all a dream and that she would wake up panting in the back seat of the Impala to his arrogant smirk and a questioning eyebrow. To be sure she wasn't dreaming she pinched herself hard. He finally licked her and it sent a shudder throughout her body. She knew she was going to explode in mere moments.

Dean continued using his tongue stimulate her. Her hips tilted, guiding his tongue to where she wanted it. He slid a couple fingers inside of her again and pressed on her g-spot from within.

Christa moaned and her back arched. She held her breath, feeling her climax build quicker. "Don't stop!" She gasped and then gripped the back of his head.

Dean obliged and flicked his tongue against her even faster. He always thought she'd taste divine, but was still surprised he was right. Another moment and Christa grabbed a pillow with her free hand and covered her face with it, screaming his name. Her entire body shuddered and she shoved his face away as her legs curled inward. After a moment, she rolled onto her side, hugging the pillow to her face, trembling from her orgasm for several moments.

Desperate to be inside of her, he sat back and watched her for a few seconds. He unbuckled his belt and stood up to take off his pants when he heard the door shut.

* * *

Sam had pulled up to the motel and parked beside the Impala. He saw the lights were still on in the room and figured they must be running behind or maybe bickering or both. They should be leaving, shortly, and he would get more details on the way over.

He checked his phone to see if she'd gotten his text about his arrival. It hadn't been read, yet, so he grabbed his bag and stepped out of the car. At the door his fist was raised to knock when he heard what he thought were whimpers or crying. Wary, and because Christa's last text was "hurry up, we could use the help," he grabbed the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked. He shouldered his bag, unholstered his gun, and slowly turned the knob. He pushed the door open, gun drawn, and scanned the room.

Sam Winchester almost dropped his gun at the scene in front of him. His brother had his face between the legs of a woman. When he looked more closely he noticed it was Christa. Sam immediately switched the safety back on, holstered his gun, and turned away, unsure if they had heard him enter. By the noises she was making, it seemed not. He hastily walked back out of the room and shut the door, his face turning red.

* * *

Dean slowly grabbed for the gun under the mattress near the foot of the bed. Christa was still hugging the pillow, catching her breath.

"Oh my god, Dean," she panted.

He swallowed hard and flicked the safety off and turned towards the door, aiming his gun. "Who's there?" He demanded, making his way towards the door.

Christa sat up quick as lightning when she heard his question. She automatically grabbed for the gun she knew Dean kept under his pillow. The safety was off, gun cocked and aimed at the door in less than a second. Her eyes went to Dean and he gestured for her to be quiet.

He threw open the door and Sam threw his hands up. "Whoa! Dean! It's me!"

Christa set the gun down almost as quickly and grabbed for Dean's shirt – it was the closest item of clothing. She held it in front of her as she knelt on the bed, feeling a slow heat creep up her neck to her cheeks.

Dean lowered his gun and grabbed his brother by the collar, dragging him into the room before slamming the door shut. "Sammy, what the fuck?"

Sam lowered his hands and glanced over at Christa, despite trying not to. "I um, I kinda… your door was unlocked."

The older Winchester stared at him, baffled. "So?! You just walk right in without knocking?"

Sam glanced down at his brother and back to Christa before he settled on looking up at the ceiling. "I panicked. I heard noises… Christa hadn't answered my text…It was a mistake."

Christa noticed Sam was blushing furiously and trying not to stare at her. She bit her lip and clutched Dean's shirt closer to her as she silently wondered if Sam had seen exactly what was happening and if so, how much.

As if he read her mind, he said, "I didn't… I didn't see much. I'm sorry." Sam dragged a hand down his face. He looked tired and embarrassed.

Dean crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed, leaning forward on his elbows. He handed Christa the gun and she flicked the safety on and set aside with the other one. He tried to hide a smirk, but Sam caught it. Christa was frozen like a statue, staring at something on the table beside the bed.

"I can, I mean, I'll just… leave, so you guys can um…" he waved his hand in a 'whatever' motion and set his bag down next to her laptop.

Christa looked back over at Sam, her blue eyes intense. She hadn't meant for Sam to see her like that. Hell, she hadn't even meant to hook up with Dean. She'd actually forgotten how handsome Sam was, not having seen him for a few years, and got embarrassed all over again. _This is why you don't hook up on a hunt,_ she thought, a _nything could happen_.

Moment over, regardless; there was work to be done. "Well, this was fun? I'll go clean up. No need to leave, Sammy. I'll be right out." Christa slipped Dean's shirt over her head and then climbed off the bed. "Just give me a few minutes to get dressed." Dean looked up at her, bit his lip and stood up, also. Christa thought he might kiss her, but he just smirked and winked. She only felt mildly annoyed by that.

Sam plopped into a chair and tried not to stare at her. Memories of wrestling her, play-fighting, and even practicing binding wounds as an excuse to touch her came flooding back. His face grew hot again and he lowered his eyes to the floor. Some part of him had hoped he would find another case to do with her while he was down here – just the two of them – and that he could finally admit his feelings for her. The idea that his older brother had gotten to her first stung quite a bit, especially since they outwardly hated each other, but Sam couldn't let that show right now.

Christa wagered Sam had a crush on her for years, now. She looked over her shoulder at Sam and saw him staring at the floor. A slight pang of guilt rolled in her stomach. At the same time, her mind went into "what if…" mode and she briefly imagined what might happen were they not brothers. She shut the bathroom door behind her, pulled off Dean's shirt, and splashed water on her face.

* * *

Dean threw his and Christa's bags at Sam's feet. "Why don't you load up the car?" Sam nodded.

* * *

Christa had cleaned up and gotten dressed while Sam and Dean waited for her at the Impala. She smirked to herself and wondered if they'd ever had the same woman together. The thought of having both Winchesters turned her on, but she tamped it down and grabbed her bag, locking the motel room behind her.

They spent the ride across town filling Sam in on the local lore and the possibilities of the monster, avoiding all mention of what had happened. It didn't take them long to arrive to their first destination. A dark, looming building now stood on the former site of where it was rumored that Lavinia Fisher had poisoned several men and buried their bodies in the cellar of her inn some 200-odd years ago. She had also been rumored to toss a few bodies into the Ashley River. Christa was first out of the car, armed and ready to go. There was no marker on the site that was blatantly obvious, and the hospital looked long neglected, so Sam picked a lock of a ground-level floor. Christa stood beside him and it took Sam several more seconds than usual to get the lock picked. He thought about how he'd interrupted Christa and Dean hooking up, how he felt kind of bad about it, but also that he'd felt envious and extremely turned on. He kept hearing her cry his brother's name in his head, wishing it was his own.

The three of them split up and searched the main area of the bottom floor of the now-abandoned hospital. They came up empty-handed. Not even a flicker of paranormal activity. Christa was obviously frustrated as they reconvened.

"So, what now?"

"Basement? She supposedly buried bodies in her cellar, so maybe there's a basement level?" Sam concluded. He and Christa began reading the signs and directories, trying to find access to a lower level. "Dean?" Sam called, suddenly. Christa was studying a map of the building, but she looked up when she didn't hear Dean reply. She could just barely make out a puff of cold air when she exhaled.

She whipped around and Dean was nowhere to be seen. No trace of him at all.

"Dean?!" Christa called. "Dean, this isn't funny! We need to go!" She yelled into the darkness.

Sam turned in a circle, unholstering his salt gun. He glanced quickly at Christa, and they advanced together. "Dean?" Sam called, again. Christa had her EMP reader out again and it blipped once. Twice. The meter got higher as they approached the first cross hallway. Sam nodded as Christa turned the corner; he covered her, watching all the other hallways. The EMP stopped blipping almost immediately.

"I lost it, Sammy." She whispered. Sam heard the panic in her voice and felt his own nerves vibrating at a higher frequency. "He's gone." He shoved aside his need to comfort her as a faint high-pitched cry came from within the depths of the building.

Sam kept covering her and grabbed her elbow. "Come on, we need to get out of here," he whispered back. He gently pulled her back to the exit and let her out, first. Once they were back to the Impala, Sam fished out the spare key from the wheel well. When they got in, he turned to Christa, who looked frozen. "Hey, Chris?" he used her nickname from his teenage years and it seemed to snap her out of it. "Hey, look, where did the other bodies vanish? We need to go there. We need to find Dean."

Christa nodded and climbed over the seat, fishing a notebook out of her bag in the backseat. She opened the book and read the coordinates; they weren't far away. Sam nodded and started the engine, peeling out of the parking lot of the old hospital as fast as he could. His jaw was clenched tightly and he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.

Christa glanced over at Sam and saw his anxiety. She was speechless.

* * *

Dean swallowed a mouthful of briny, brackish water. Something was pushing him under and he began to panic. He thought of his survival skills and stopped panicking, managing to take a deep breath before he went completely under.

He opened his eyes and saw blackness as he kept sinking under the water. Fighting would only wear him out sooner. He closed his eyes and was back in the motel room with Christa and Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

(A/N - explicit content ahead)

Back in the motel room, Christa re-emerged from the bathroom, naked, her hair down. "On second thought, I should get to see you naked. To call it even." Dean had just pulled on another shirt as Christa approached him, a sultry look in her eyes. "So? What do you say," she almost purred; he glanced up at the door, which Sam had just walked out of, then back to Christa's body. He still tasted her on his lips.

"Is that all you want?" He asked, as he pulled his shirt off. Christa's eyes moved down his torso then came back up to meet his. She licked her lips and shook her head. "What do you want, Christa?" His voice was low with lust again.

"I want you, Dean. All of you," she replied as she stared into his bright green eyes.

In moments, his jeans and boxers were on the floor at his feet. A pink flush covered her face as she placed a hand on his abdomen, openly admiring his body. Dean leaned away just a bit, opened the drawer in the nightstand, and withdrew a condom. He tore open the foil and then rolled it on before he stepped around her and pressed himself into her back.

Christa felt his erection slide between her legs and she moaned softly. Dean rocked his hips back and forth, sliding against her, teasing. She bent forward and placed her hands on the bed, then looked over her shoulder at him. "Fuck me, Dean Winchester." His eyes closed for a moment and then he grabbed her hips while he positioned himself at her entrance. He hesitated, expecting her to change her mind. "Now," she almost begged him. He groaned and slid into her, filling her inch by inch; she was still incredibly wet. Once he filled her completely, he tightened his hold on her hips and started thrusting at a steady pace.

"God, Dean, you feel good," Christa breathed. Her head hung down as she pushed her hands into the mattress. His hips were nudging her forward ever so slightly, so she placed a knee on the bed to steady herself. He stared down at her back, eyes traveling across her smooth skin, noticing her muscles in her back, then the dimples above her ass. He loved those the most. Christa looked back at him and saw him watching himself thrust into her. "You can spank me, if you want."

He was mildly surprised by her announcement and bit his lip. He rubbed her ass with his right hand before he gave it a loud smack. Christa moaned loudly and pushed her hips back against his as he pushed forward. The sound of his hand against her skin gave him goose bumps. He picked up his pace just a little bit, earning another low mewl from her. He slapped her ass again and again; each time, she moaned a little louder. Enjoying her immensely, he watched her ass turn bright pink as he switched sides.

"Jesus Christ, Christa," he breathed, thrusting into her hard and fast, now. He stopped smacking and reached around her, his fingertips finding her clit. He wanted her to come with him – he wanted her to see stars. Her breathing got heavier and almost every exhale was a noise of pleasure. He groaned and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back. "I can't hear you," he growled, panting.

Christa gasped. Every time she'd thought about what it would be like with Dean, she imagined it almost just like this. He was frantically thrusting into her, grunting and panting, matching her labored breathing. A loud whimper escaped her lips as he tightened his grip on her hair, "Oh! GOD! Dean!"

He finally let go of her hair and Christa gasped for breath. As she steadied her breathing, the knot in her core got tighter and tighter. She collapsed onto her elbows and squeezed her eyes shut as she came, groaning his name and trembling. His hips pounded into her even harder as her muscles clenched around him and he growled deep in his chest again.

Her cries became hoarse as she shuddered again and grabbed fistfuls of the bed sheets. Desperately, she shoved his hand away from her sensitive clit.

With his hand now free, he went back to slapping her ass repeatedly. His other hand reached under her and grasped a breast; his chest was pressed into her back, now. Dean felt a familiar tightening and closed his eyes, his lips on her back and shoulders as his orgasm pulsed through his body. "Fuck, Christa," he groaned over her as he came.

* * *

Christa was panicking, calling for Dean in the utter darkness. Sam was behind her, calling for Dean as well. They were sweeping their flashlights across the water. Christa felt her voice hitch in her throat and she swallowed another bout of panic. She turned her flashlight off and went right to the edge of the river.

A moment later, she tripped over what she thought was a water-laden log. She was lucky she didn't twist her ankle. She was getting back up when Sam yelled his brother's name again. Christa switched her flashlight back on and saw Dean's limp body on the banks of the Ashley.

He wasn't breathing.

Sam turned him over and Christa gave him her light as she began doing chest compressions. She leaned down and breathed into his mouth, hoping they weren't too late. They'd pissed off Death enough and she knew she had to save Dean. Compressions. Breaths. Compressions. Breaths. Christa swallowed a sob; it seemed Dean frustrated her even in death. Ready to accept they'd lost Dean, she sat back on heels when a wet cough and gagging brought her around.

Sam helped Dean turn onto his side. The older Winchester violently vomited water as Sam dragged him farther up the bank. Christa burst into tears for a moment before she gathered her composure. On the other hand, Sam seemed far too calm about his brother being close to death.

When Dean's coughing subsided, Sam stood up and swept his light over the river, back and forth. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was determined to be on guard. Christa helped Dean to his feet. Once he was standing, she shoved her salt gun at him and said, "The Impala is just beyond the trees. Go!" Dean took off, lumbering in his water-logged clothes, sputtering. "Sam!" She said, turning around to the darkness, "Let's go! Sam!"

Then Christa heard a splash downstream, followed by a shout. Her heart sank and she unwound the iron chain from her waist and wrapped it around her arm. She ran into the river, unable to see anything, following the splashing as it traveled downstream at a fast clip.

Sam was struggling to keep his head above water, but something kept pulling him under. He made as much noise as possible before he was finally pulled under, his eyes closing.

* * *

Sam was seated at the table by the door as Christa approached him, naked as the day she was born. "I should really go," he said, looking anywhere but directly at her. Before he could stand, she had walked right up to him and gently lifted his chin to look into his eyes. Sam took a steadying breath and then met her gaze. Those deep blue eyes had always entranced him. The knowledge she was naked was a mere flutter in his mind as he fell into her gaze.

"Sammy, don't go. I want you to stay," she said softly.

He licked his lips, finding them suddenly dry, and wondered when she managed to have such a hold on him. Sure, he loved working with her and cared deeply for her and she was very attractive, smart, and creative, but the fact he lusted for her was new to him. He hadn't felt lust towards her since they were teenagers. Moments passed between them, Sam unsure, but also wanting to hoist her onto the table and fuck her right there, whether or not his brother was in the room.

Christa stood straddling Sam's legs. She wouldn't do anything he was uncomfortable with, or talk him into staying if he wanted to leave. Sam seemed frozen for a moment, then his eyes traveled down her body to her sex and he shook his head slowly. Nothing was ever easy, but he was pretty sure he had a chance to satisfy a boyhood fantasy. He looked past her and didn't see Dean. She leaned down and put her lips next to his ear, "I'm so wet, Sammy; please touch me."

It was as if something in him popped open; Sam unfroze and pulled Christa down onto his lap. She let out a little noise of surprise and then Sam was kissing her, his lips forcing hers open, his tongue finding its way into her mouth.

She kissed him back, gently running her fingers through his long hair. Sam's mind raced in circles, unsure if this was really happening, but not wanting to wake up just yet.

Christa nodded as Sam whispered into her ear and then he pushed a finger into her. She sighed, bit his earlobe, and he pushed another in, his free hand burying itself into her hair. Sam whispered in her ear again and she breathed out a "god, yes," and he tugged her hair even more. Christa's back arched and she moaned. Sam leaned down and kissed her breasts, gently nipping each one.

She was clinging to his broad shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles. He could smell her sex and feel her pulse racing as she writhed on his lap, moaning wantonly.

Sam surprised himself. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how her moans drove him wild, and what he wanted to do to her. He felt high, almost like he'd been drinking demon blood again. Her smell was intoxicating, and he was living for her pleasure. A quick reminder that his brother was somewhere nearby didn't slow Sam down one bit. He didn't care that Dean had his face between her legs not ten minutes ago. All he cared about was making her his. Sam let go of her hair and put that hand on her lower back to steady her on his lap. Her eyes opened and she was staring into his. Sam felt his hardness throb and thrust his fingers even harder into her. "I wanna make you come, Christa," he breathed, voice dripping with lust.

"Yes, please," she whimpered back. His pace had sped up and become almost frantic. Her hips were grinding into his touch as he brought her closer to the edge. "Please, Sam, God, please!"

Sam suddenly took his hand away and grabbed Christa's waist. He lifted her and almost threw her onto her bed. She shouted in surprise, but opened her legs for him just the same. He pulled his shirt off and then discarded his boots, jeans, and boxers. Her eyes swept down his body and a light pink flush settled on her cheeks as she stared at his manhood. He pulled a condom out of his jeans on the floor as he looked down at her, splayed out on the bed, panting, waiting for him. He ripped the foil open and rolled on the condom as he knelt over her. He positioned himself between her legs and Christa moaned, rolling her hips up. He leaned down over her and licked her neck. "Tell me you're mine," he breathed into her ear.

Christa inhaled sharply, her entire body on fire. She could barely think straight, and Sam's demand got jumbled in her mind. She felt light pressure on her neck, then Sam's hand was clamped around her throat and he was hovering at her entrance. He repeated himself and Christa moaned, "I'm yours, Sam."

He began thrusting into her, fast and rough. Christa's hips rolled up to meet him and she was moaning louder, urging him to go harder and deeper. Sam knelt up and began rubbing his thumb over her clit. He watched as her breathing got heavier and her eyes almost closed in ecstasy. Her eyes swept down his body again and he felt his pecs and abs twitch in response to her gaze; then her head was turned and she was looking away.

Sam grabbed her chin with his free hand and turned her face back to him. "Who do you belong to?" He asked, his voice husky and low, rubbing her clit faster.

"You, Sam," Christa moaned out. She licked her lips, visibly struggling not to give in and come. But Sam was so good at what he was doing to her that she had no choice; she felt herself careening past the edge. "Oh, oh God, oh Sam. Fuck!" Christa screamed as she came, trying not to buck her hips wildly as she shuddered, pleasure absolutely blinding her. Sam clamped his free hand over her mouth to muffle her screams, relishing in watching her give herself to her pleasure.

He slowly withdrew his hand, riding out her orgasm, pushing hard past her tightness. Sam throbbed, but he was savoring her orgasm and pushing her a little more into it. Christa whimpered and kept coming, crying his name repeatedly into his hand.

Sam shook his head and groaned, his thrusts slowing down just a bit, and he leaned down, his mouth on hers. Christa immediately opened her mouth to Sam's tongue. She buried her hands in his hair and wrapped her legs around his waist. "Christa," he breathed, breaking the kiss, "God you feel good." His thrusts slowed a bit more; he was rocking his hips against hers, taking his time to feel her around his length.

"Oh, Sam," Christa replied, her hips rocking against his. "You're gonna make me come again," she moaned and Sam growled deep in his throat. He grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed, then gripped her hip. "More!" Christa responded. Sam obliged, his hips picking up pace. She was panting again, moaning with almost every breath.

Sam groaned loudly, wanting to watch her come over and over again, unable to get enough of it. "Come for me, Chris," he demanded.

Her blue eyes went wide before they squeezed shut and she came again, covering her face with her hands. Sam was firmly gripping her hips, upright on his knees, now. He groaned and fucked her through it, his eyes also shut tight. Exhausted, Christa turned her head to the side again. Sam didn't turn her face back to him; he kept pounding into her, his fingertips digging into her skin. He looked down at her, taking in her breasts bouncing as he bucked into her. He closed his eyes and tried to delay his orgasm, but he was too late. Bruises would surely form where his fingers were on her hips; he shoved himself deep into her as he came, groaning loudly and shuddering. "Fffuck! Chris!"

Christa clenched around him as he came and Sam shuddered violently, his eyes squeezing shut again. He finished and leaned down over her, catching his breath, hazel eyes slowly opening. Christa pushed his hair out of his face and Sam opened his eyes. Sweat beaded between her breasts and on her forehead. Her mascara was smeared on one side. She smiled up at him and bit her lip. He thought he would never get enough of her.

* * *

Christa blindly groped for him under the water. Her eyes were open against the stinging water and she desperately wished she'd brought her light before she remembered Sam had one on him. She surfaced for air, took a huge gulp, and went back under. The flashlight had sunk to the bottom of the river and she grabbed it, desperately trying to find Sam. She saw movement to her right and turned. Sam was on his back on the bottom of the river, as if he were weighed down. His arms floated above his body and Christa noticed no bubbles near him.

She kicked as hard as she could towards him, loosening the chain. If the ghost was holding Sam down, Christa prayed the iron would break the bindings or at least weaken the hold. She was running out of air, and couldn't get the chain under him. Christa felt her lungs burn and she finally lifted his shoulders enough to get the chain under his arms. With all her strength, she pulled on the loose end of the chain and dug her heels into the mud.

Desperate for air, she felt herself get light-headed and put the rest of her strength into another hard pull.

Suddenly, Sam came loose from the river bed and floated up. Christa gave the last few kicks that she could manage and they breached the surface. Christa gasped for air, filling her lungs, trying to stay above the surface. She clung to Sam as she treaded water and tried to see where the river bank was. It was barely discernible in the blackness of the night, but it was there and she started swimming for it while keeping Sam's head above water as much as she could.

Once she could walk back out of the river, she hauled Sam using the chain. He'd have some nasty bruises tomorrow, but it seemed to be working keeping the spirit away. He sputtered and inhaled deeply as soon as Christa gave the chain some slack. She helped him to his knees once he'd gotten his breath back.

An angry, shrill cry pierced the night and they clawed their way back up in the mud, panting. The chain fell off as they scrambled away from the river. A shotgun blast echoed through the trees around them and Christa made to grab Sam again as they stood up.


	6. Chapter 6

Suddenly, Sam was knocked off his feet. Christa cried out as he hit the ground and the wind was knocked out of him. In the dark, she couldn't see where the chain had fallen. She jumped on top of him, shielding him with her body, as it seemed the vengeful spirit had no interest in her whatsoever. She clung to Sam as she felt his body being jerked back to the river. "No!" She cried out, "You can't have him!" Sam was fighting whatever it was, too. "Sam, don't let go," Christa demanded. She felt his muscular arms wrap around her waist and felt his body strain under hers, fighting against whatever wanted him. When she thought he was going to lose his grip on her, she heard the gun blast again and felt salt rain down on her back.

They got up as fast as they could; Sam's hand found the chain and he picked it up as the three of them raced back to the Impala. Dean had poured a salt circle near the trunk of the Impala, which was wide open with weapons in reach. Sam hefted the chain ready to swing and Christa loaded another salt gun as her arms trembled from fatigue. A misty figure appeared before them and Christa prayed she wouldn't have to drag one of them back out of the river – she didn't think she had the strength.

Dean fumbled with his gun but Christa raised hers and fired off two consecutive shots. "Eat! Shit!" She yelled with each blast.

The misty figure screeched again and Sam tightened his grip on the chain. "I can't hold her off, you guys. We need to find what's binding her here! Ideas would be helpful!" His hands were wet and slippery with mud as he swung the chain again. Sam leaned back, desperate to stay inside the salt circle. Dean finally got his shit together and fired off another round at it.

"Christa, the hospital. There's a glass case with a chunk of wood and rope inside," Dean explained, "you have to go!" He tossed keys at her and Christa wanted to hug them both. She was almost sure if she left them here, alone, she'd never see them again. Dean slammed the trunk closed and it brought Christa around. When she shook it off, Dean tossed her a small silver rectangle. His lighter. "You're gonna need this. More salt's in the front seat."

Christa jumped into the car and drove like a bat out of hell.

* * *

The sky began to turn a dark gray in the east as she sped back to the old hospital. She went in the same door they originally picked and ran down the hall to the directory she'd been studying. Using the lighter, she gave it a quick once-over then turned back around and headed down a dark hallway. She focused on her breathing and not the searing pain in her lungs from diving in after Sam. Her footfalls echoed as she ran through a dark maze, turning left, then right, and going ever deeper into the darkness. Finally, she paused and flicked the lighter to see if she was in the right place. A reflection of the flame caught her eye and Christa ran over to glass case she was looking for and tried to find something to break it open with. She remembered the blade she always wore at her hip on hunts and used the hilt to shatter the glass. A few pieces cut her hand and forearm as she reached in and grabbed the wood and bit of rope before racing back to the car.

She set the rope and piece of wood onto the asphalt and salted it generously. Time was against them. Using Dean's lighter, she shakily lit a piece of cloth soaked in gasoline. The 200-year-old artifacts went up in an instant. Christa stepped back and she heard a piercing screech that only vengeful spirits being released of their mortal hold could make.

Christa was exhausted and trembling, her entire body ached, but she waited until the wood was completely burned to ash. The eastern sky was now a very light gray as the sun came up over Port Charleston. She pocketed Dean's lighter and slid back onto the mud-covered driver's seat. Wearily, she cranked the engine and headed back to pick up the brothers, hopefully not from the river.

* * *

Sam and Dean relaxed when the ghost of Lavinia Fisher screeched her last on this mortal realm. An awkward silence fell over them and then Dean coughed.

"Hey, uh, Dean?" Sam started. He cleared his throat, feeling extremely awkward.

Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, absolutely exhausted. "What's up?" He asked, as if his little brother hadn't walked in on him face-deep in Christa's sex.

"Um, did you… I mean. Did you, like, have a weird dream? You know, while you were under?"

Dean cleared his throat and turned away from the river, facing the ever-lightening east. "Uh, I can't..." Dean closed his eyes. He had dreamed that he was back in the motel with Christa and they finished what they'd started. "I only remember bits and pieces. You?"

Sam nodded and coughed. He'd dreamed of the things he'd fantasized about with Christa when he was younger, except they were in present-day. He chalked it up to his bad timing earlier. Seeing her naked had reminded him of how much he'd lusted after her, that's all. "I think so… I mean something weird happened. I almost felt like… like I was somewhere else," he lied.

Dean nodded. Another silence feel between them before he decided to go ahead and say what he was thinking, "So, hey man, about earlier. Sorry you uh, you had to see that." Dean couldn't help but smirk a little bit. He had no idea what had gotten into him, but Christa was undeniably someone he'd try to hook up with again.

"Yeah. I'm gonna need some brain bleach for that one," Sam retorted, sitting down on the ground. "I thought you guys hated each other?"

Dean's smirk got wider, "The old Winchester Charm gets 'em every time." He crouched next to his brother and they watched the sky lighten, listening for the Impala's engine.

Sam shook his head, "Jerk."

"Bitch."

* * *

They heard the roar of the Impala before they saw the headlights. It pulled up to them, skidding to a stop, causing Dean to wince. Christa stepped out of the car, still covered in mud, a tired smile on her lips. "I got that bitch," she announced proudly. Dean's eyebrow raised and Christa laughed, "Thanks to you, Winchester." She moved away from the driver's side. The guys exchanged a look with each other before they approached, also covered in mud.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Dean drawled. His eyes raked over her body and flashes from that dream – or maybe hallucination – flooded his mind. He felt his groin react remembering the things she'd said to him. Two large steps put him close enough to her to envelope her in his arms.

Christa hugged him back and then caught a look on Sam's face. Light-heartedly, she shoved Dean off her and punched his shoulder. "I fucking hate that name, Winchester," she hissed. Dean winked at her and slid into the driver's seat, thinking she would never change even though he'd gotten her walls down.

Sam shuffled towards the back and Christa flashed him a shy smile as she stepped aside. "Hey, Sam?" She asked as he opened the door. He looked at her, his eyes hard to read in the dim light, but she thought he looked sad. "Mind if I sit with you?" His face broke into a tired smile and he shook his head, sliding across the backseat to make room for her. Christa slid in next to him and pulled the door shut. "Just like old times, huh, boys?" She leaned her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and felt his arm wrap protectively around her as Dean drove them back to the motel.

* * *

When the morning sun was barely peeking over the horizon, the three hunters were shuffling to the motel room door. They were filthy, wet, and smelled like brine. Dean outwardly cringed at seeing the mud all over his car seats and floorboards, but was too tired to start cleaning.

Christa opened the motel door and toed off her boots before she could track mud all over the place. Sam followed suit and Dean after. They dropped their bags at the door, also, and Dean went to close the room curtains so they could sleep off the day. Sam suggested Christa shower, first, and she didn't argue. Dean bit back a comment about an effort to conserve water, mostly because he was too tired for sex. So decided to disrobe and wait his turn; he tossed his mud-caked clothing onto the floor and plopped onto his bed in wet boxers, yawning loudly.

Sam also stripped to his boxers and sat on the other bed, barely able to stay awake. He listened to the shower and imagined her in there, naked, soaping herself as if she were seducing him. Briefly, he wondered if she looked how she did in his dream or hallucination or whatever. The bits of the dream he'd had in the river flooded his memories and he closed his eyes, trying to think about anything else.

The shower turned off and Dean stood up, rubbing his face tiredly.

Christa came out in only a towel and she and Dean slid by each other in the bathroom doorway. Dean touched her hip lightly as he moved by her and Christa paused when he whispered something to her. Sam watched them as they seemed to be frozen for several minutes, instead of a couple seconds.

"Don't use my shampoo," he finally heard her say, as if breaking a spell, and she walked out of the bathroom. She shook her head and then seemed to notice Sam sitting on her bed. She grinned sheepishly at him. "I feel much better, now. And for the record, you guys seriously owe me one. Or two."

Sam watched her move about in the shadowy room, her towel barely held shut. He forced a grin at her as she spoke to him, but didn't really hear what she was saying. She moved around the bed to her bag and got out a clean tank top and underwear. Like a true professional, she pulled her underwear on under the towel and then the tank top over it just before the towel fell to the floor.

Christa climbed onto her bed beside him, able to sense his discomfort. Sam didn't move. The vividness of her naked body on his lap, of how she looked under him, was slowly fading. He wondered if he'd wake up with no memory of it whatsoever and that made him surprisingly sad. He swung his feet to the floor, unsure of what to say to Christa. He wanted her and the smell of her skin filled his nostrils.

You could cut the tension with a knife, it was so thick. Christa had never liked tense situations or awkward moments, so she resorted to physical contact hoping to break it up. She heard Sam suck in a breath as she leaned into his back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her chin rested on his left shoulder and she sighed; her breasts pushed into his back and Sam felt goose bumps rise on his legs and felt his groin stir.

"So are we sleeping together, Sammy?" Her smirk was almost audible. His was sure she meant as a friend and not sexually, even though his heart beat a little faster. "After you shower, of course." She kissed his cheek and then unwound herself from him, leaving him feeling as if his skin were on fire where she'd touched him. She lied down behind him and by the time he turned around with a flirty quip, she was fast asleep.

* * *

Sam climbed onto the bed next to her after pulling on a clean pair of pants. His eyes readjusted to the darkness of the room and he watched her sleep for several minutes before he closed his eyes and gave in to exhaustion.


	7. Chapter 7

(A/N - explicit content ahead)

They all slept until the evening hours, when exhaustion slowly released its grip on them. As Christa woke up in the stuffy room, she was mildly alarmed at the heavy weight around her middle until she realized it was Sam's arm. She stretched and kicked the sheets off of her, rolling over to face him. He stirred and sighed as he tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer to him.

She smiled and could just barely see his eyes open. He looked mildly confused until she brushed some of his hair away from his face and booped his nose. "Hi," she whispered, snugging into him. Just like when they were younger, she felt extremely safe in his arms. It had been almost ten years since they had to share a bed on a hunt and she realized she missed the intimacy of it and the smell of him next to her.

"Morning," he breathed into her hair. He moved his hand down to her hip; her skin was warm to the touch.

"I missed you," Christa whispered, wondering why her heart was suddenly fluttering. Confused, she wondered if she had feelings for Sam Winchester. It made sense – he was the sweet one, the doting one, the one who always always took her calls, no matter how late it was at night. The couple years he had stopped hunting was the longest time they hadn't spoken since he graduated high school. Their age difference didn't seem to matter, anymore, whereas it had when they were teens. That and dealing with her feelings for Dean seemed to make her view Sammy as more of a brother than a potential, well, anything.

"Oh? It looked like you were doing just fine last night without me," Sam muttered, almost immediately regretting it. He felt Christa shift away ever so slightly and her eyes lowered. "I'm sorry," he whispered after a moment, "I have no right to say anything." After another pause, he gently lifted her chin so she would look at him. "It's just that," he tried to explain.

Suddenly her lips were gently pressed against his and he was effectively cut off from finishing his thought. Sam pulled away, shocked, and tried sorting his thoughts as he stared into her eyes, speechless.

Christa bit her lip and began to curl in to herself, embarrassed. She was about to apologize when he kissed her back. Her mouth opened to his and Sam had to swallow a groan of desire. When he deepened the kiss, he felt her move against him, and he buried a hand in her hair at the back of her head. Their kiss was slow and passionate but as she pressed against him and felt his hard body against hers, it became urgent and breathless. Christa felt herself biting back a moan and slowly pulled away from one of the best kisses she'd ever had.

Sam breathed deeply having a moment of total déjà vu and not knowing why. He slowly rolled her onto her back, wedged his hips between her legs, and kissed her again. The outline of her body was extremely dim, but he made out every curve and dip and dimple that caught what little light came into the room. He wanted her so badly, but Dean was right there, five feet away.

Christa saw him glance over at Dean as he knelt between her legs. "Don't worry," she whispered, "he's a very heavy sleeper." To emphasize her point, she grabbed one of his hands and slid it between her legs, where it was warm. "Please, Sam?"

* * *

Sam clamped his hand over her mouth as Christa's back arched mid-orgasm. He knew she was trying to be quiet, but he really didn't know how Dean could sleep through all her gasping. After her trembling subsided, Sam glanced over and saw Dean on his back, snoring softly. He knelt up and pulled Christa's underwear down before he unbuttoned his pants.

When Sam's pants were off, she pulled him back down to her and kissed him slow and long. He was positioned at her entrance and she nudged her hips into his, signifying she was ready. Smoothly, he entered her and she moaned quietly into his mouth. He began pumping into her steadily, trying to make the least amount of noise.

Dean muttered in his sleep and the other two room occupants froze. When a loud snore broke the silence, Sam continued. The feeling of déjà vu overwhelmed him again, along with her attempts at being quiet. He knew he wasn't going to last long.

Several minutes later, sweaty and panting, he pulled out of her and came on her stomach, clenching his jaw and trying to control his breathing. Christa smiled up at him when he finally opened his eyes. "Shower?" she whispered and he nodded in reply, sitting back on his shins.

They showered together, silently soaping each other off and running their hands along each other's bodies in appreciation. The bruises on his chest weren't as bad as Christa thought they were going to be. Nonetheless, she gently kissed the worst ones, enjoying how Sam's breath caught in his throat when she pressed her body against his.

He had begun washing her back but she pressed back into him and made that quiet moan that drove him crazy. Sam slipped his hand between her legs and had her coming again as he bit her shoulders and held her against him. When her orgasm subsided, she leaned back against him and he leaned down to capture her mouth with his. They finished rinsing off and he shut off the water.

"Sam, last night," Christa began softly, "I… You know I had a crush on Dean for years. I don't know what happened but," she stuttered, looking for the words she wanted, "we were fighting and it got intense and he was about to leave. Then we were… it just happened."

He held a towel to her and wiped his own face with another. "Do you… do you have feelings for him, now?" Bracing himself for her answer, he stepped out of the shower. There was a long pause as Christa considered the question.

Finally, she sighed and stepped out, also. "I don't know. We just needed to let off some steam, I think."

He nodded and then raked his eyes down her body, unable to help himself. "It was pretty hot," he shrugged, "you were, anyway." A slow smirk spread across his lips. "I'd like to make you scream like that." His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement at seeing her face turn pink. "I also think there might be a case for us in South Florida, if you're up for it."

"Let's go get breakfast, er, dinner? And fill me in on the details."

* * *

Christa felt like a teenager again as they waited for their food. Sam had wrapped his arm around her waist, almost possessively, as they stood in line to order at a local grease pit. They talked quietly about the case and Christa decided she'd go with him. On the way back to the motel, Christa put her hand on his thigh and they caught up on their lives and joked about nonsense. Laughing, she climbed out of the car and walked to the motel door when she felt his hand on her elbow. Christa turned around to face him and he bent down, kissing her hard, pulling her against him. Christa moaned into his mouth and pressed her body against him, conscious not to drop the soda tray.

* * *

Dean stirred from a dream that disappeared as soon as he opened his eyes. He was hard as a rock and looked over to the other bed; it was empty and the sheets were crumpled every which way. He was hit with some weird sense of déjà vu and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He went to take a shower, his mind pulling bits and pieces of his dream out of his subconscious.

* * *

Christa and Sam sat at the small table by the door and ate in silence, exchanging glances every now and then. Dean walked out of the bathroom already dressed in jeans and groaned. "Holy shit that smells good," he said as Sam handed him a sandwich. Dean took up post against the fridge and began tearing into his sandwich voraciously.

Sam shifted and finally spoke to Christa, "So, what do you make of the case? Think there's something there?"

"You got another case already, Sammy?" Dean asked without looking up, "Where at?"

Sam shifted and stared at Christa, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Yeah, uh, maybe. It's in South Florida. I think we've got it covered, though."

Dean balled up the wrapper and wiped his hands on his jeans. "You two nerds have fun. I'm headed back to Kansas. The air doesn't feel like actual soup, there." He tossed the wrapper into the trash and then started throwing his things into bags.

They all departed the motel together. Sam loaded his car with his and Christa's bags and Dean loaded up the Impala while Christa checked out. They were waiting for her as she strode back across the empty lot. Christa almost started laughing at how similar their stances were.

"So, Dean, always a pleasure," she said, ensuring her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "See ya never?" Her eyes betrayed her light attitude and she couldn't help but grin at him.

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled her into a tight hug. "You could come with me to Kansas and we can finish what we started," he breathed into her ear.

Christa closed her eyes as a shiver went down her spine. She pulled away, noticing his green eyes were full of mischief as he looked her up and down one more time. "Don't get into too much trouble before I see you again, Winchester." She said cheekily back to him, walking over to Sam's car. "I'll let you know when I'm coming," she added with a wink as she opened Sam's passenger door.

He waved bye to Sam as they turned opposite directions onto the highway. Christa blew him a kiss and then turned towards Sam, laughing at something he said. He always did envy how easily Sam made her laugh. He cranked the stereo and looked in his rearview one last time - he had no doubts that he'd be seeing Christa sooner than later.


End file.
